Chapter Text
It wasn’t easy settling in, she realized. She thought the preparations were well-planned and would get her far. With nothing but a worn backpack given by her mother, she trudged upon the busy streets of this lively city named Jump City.
She stood out immediately, her white robes and cloak a dead giveaway. Several emotions were directed at her, no doubt looking at her odd fashion choice, poking at her mental barriers. She didn’t want attention, not like this.
She tried gripping her cloak tightly, but the color alone didn’t dwindle their interest.
Currency, was it dollars again? She managed to grab a few crumpled dollars, what was left of Arella’s arrival on Azarath. They laughed it off, saying it was a miracle that Arella’s money didn’t burn to ashes.
Arella told her it was going to be difficult if she were to settle in. Documents would be complicated since she didn’t even have a record of anything. So, her mother gave her her own identification card instead. She glanced at the ID; there was the spitting image of herself in the picture.
She would fit in just fine being Angela Roth.
What can I do with seven dollars? I think I need new clothes.
A tally on her mind told her to visit some cheap shops. Arella did mention there were stores called dollar stores. Heck, clothes were the least of her problems; Azarath already gave her what she needed, but she was too ashamed to stay, not even when she saved them.
The spawn of Trigon the Terrible having an existential crisis regarding how to live. Classic. He wouldn’t let this go if he was still alive. She was just glad Arella was fully intent on supporting her, giving her the basics once she arrived.
Raven persuaded her to come with her, but Arella remained adamant about staying here at Azarath, saying it was too much for her to return.
She hummed, flying discreetly to an abandoned building, where she could scan the buildings quickly.
First things first, as Arella said, get a job, find a home, and do whatever shit she wants.
That was very…descriptive and helpful, but hey, at least she could leave Azarath.
Her keen eyes settled on a café, barely lit by a lantern. It was set near the port. A sign was placed on the bottom left of the window.
Bingo, she flew towards it, glad the night gave her camouflage in her avian form. She really didn’t want to exist here known for her powers. No, she wanted to settle in and have those boring everyday human lives. Mundane things.
“Barista for hire!” The sign said below it was asking for requirements. Bummer. She went in, the bell chiming, and the aroma of roasted coffee beans entered her senses. She hummed in content, inhaling deeply, ambrosial.
“Good evening, Ma’am, table for?” A staff member approached her, wearing a black apron above a white shirt.
“I’m actually interested in the job,”
“Oh, do you have the requirements ready?”
“Yes,” Real smooth, Raven. “I have it here.” She pointed at her bag.
Maybe some little mind manipulation wouldn’t hurt if it was harmless, right? C’mon, she promised she’d do alright! Coffee wasn’t her thing, and while the equipment humming on the counter looked intimidating, she herself was more intimidating.
The logic didn’t make sense, but anything to fuel her motivation.
“Please sit here,” The staff directed her near the counter. She sat on the stool, raptly watching those baristas operate the machinery. Maybe her visual learning could be of use. It looked simple, though, the machines mostly tended to do the job, and manual labor just consisted of…pouring shit in.
“Good evening,” A female staff said, her uniform vastly different from those wearing black-leathered aprons. She wore an ironed polo with fit, black trousers. Someone from a higher level, perhaps? Monks did have their positions.
“Good evening.” She returned, inhaling, preparing to do some mind manipulation to secure a spot. While she’s at it, too, she might as well tell them to train her.
“Let’s start right away. Why should we hire you?”
“Because you’re hiring…?” She flinched internally, knowing it was a bad start from how the female furrowed her brows. Oh, a slight irritation and vexation were coating her soul, too.
“You’re a runaway, aren’t you, dear?”
Raven sat a little straighter, hand clutching the straps of her bag consciously. “Uhm,”
“I can tell. It’s normal,” The female leaned further in her chair, asking for a glass of water from the nearby barista. “Look, kid, you’re a young girl; it’s dangerous to be alone with that face and clothes. We’re gonna accept you, okay?”
“Really?”
“You look like a motivated girl. I’m betting you know close to nothing about coffee?”
Raven offered a sheepish smile, making the manager laugh. The barista came in with ice-cold water, placing it right before her; she eagerly accepted it and drank generously, uncaring of the audience.
“I’m not gonna ask for more details, but something tells me you could be of use here in the shop,” The manager stood up and offered her hand, “My name’s Isabella, Isa for short, hun. We could train you tomorrow.”
“...Raven.” She accepted the handshake firmly. “But I prefer to be called Angela here….”
“I understand, identity reasons. Girl, your hands are freezing, Mel, give her a cup of warm chocolate.”
“I-i don’t mean to intrude,” Raven hastily said, wanting to keep her seven dollars for clothes.
“Don’t cha worry, Angela. Consider it as a welcome gift.” Isa persuaded her to sit down, telling her she’d grab a few files for her employment. This Mel looked at her; scrawny and curly hair hid his sharp gaze.
“Isabella’s kind; don’t fail her now,” He grumbled, handing her the hot cocoa. “I’m like you. Runaway.”
“Then cheers to making her happy,” Raven offered hesitantly, smiling when Mel cracked a smile. He went back behind the counter, wiping clean the porcelain cups the customer left.
“Cheers to making Isabella happy.”
Okay, maybe mind manipulation wasn’t necessary. But she’d do her damned best to make Isabella happy. The woman leaked compassion in every corner of her soul, and she’d label her as “must protect.”
She didn’t dare utter another word when Isabella asked if she’d have a roof to stay in; it would be asking for too much or taking things for granted on her terms. And that was one thing she didn’t do. No, she chased shit herself.
Maybe she should reverse time and slap the shit out of her for denying the offer. The winds here were ruthless and unforgiving, billowing her cloak wildly. Her robes that used to feel free now felt so constraining with how they hugged her legs tightly.
Doesn’t the church here, whatever religion, offer temporary houses to those in dire need? Where were they now? She hovered in the sky, squinting against the blaring lights of the city. Why did they need so much?
She needed to choose a temporary home right now, and judging by how far her eyes could decipher, there seemed to be an area as dead as the night. It piqued her interest, and she flew towards it.
Silent as an owl, she glided over it, past the loud cars. The light dwindled the longer she went deeper, the place devoid of the vibrant emotions the people hummed. A few sentient life hummed at her empathy, nothing but merely rats.
A muted energy captured her attention. Why would there be sinister energy in the middle of a desolate area?
When she entered, she finally knew why.
It was supposed to be where Trigon should’ve entered this realm.
Hah! Sucks to be him because he’s dead.
Lousy shit of a father.
The old library looked like a decent place to call her home for a while. The books were crusty, and dust littered every corner, but the dome in the middle provided ambient light.
With a dusty cloak and bag, she shook it off and eyed the surroundings.
“Guess I got some cleaning to do.”
Turning the old library into a temporary home was fun; beyond sending the debris and ashes to another dimension she didn’t dare recall, it could closely resemble a home. A big home.
Oh, did she mention it also ran deeper than she knew? The source of the sleeping energy resided within the ghouls who guarded the chamber. But hey, they could be of use now by maintaining the library and the chamber.
“Okay, look, uh, I don’t know what to name you all,” She fidgeted under the myriad of ghouls staring at her. They seemed confused at first when they saw her, having recognized her as the daughter of darkness. “But you can help clean this place….”
And that is how hundreds of ghouls appeared from the library, arranging some books. When she went below to track progress, they were dusting the statues of the cloaked skeleton. They provided her with ancient weapons, to which she declined and just told them to discard them somewhere.
Or,
“Wait, maybe I could sell those.”
There’s the start for hustling money.
She didn’t know ghouls could look so proud, but somehow they managed to turn the chamber, the room before the spiraling stairs that went to the palm, into a bedroom for her.
Beyond the creepy cloaked skeletons that peered into her from time to time, there was a worse for wear bed table.
“Uh, great job,” She murmured, the ghouls delighting before fading from view, leaving her alone with the bed table. “But I guess I’d have to take the floor for a while.”
Conversing with a ghoul, one said it would be better to sell it in a junk shop since the weapons were made of genuine metals and could get her a big wad of cash. Turns out, some gold managed to sneak in those varieties of weaponry.
And here she was, surrounded by ghouls fighting over which would end up in a jewelry or junk shop.
She could tolerate the screeches, but not for long.
In the end, she came home with a big wad of cash.
Also, the ghouls found another set of treasures.
Investment , she told them. And they kept and hid it for a while.
Trigon’s grandeur for treasures came in handy in the end.
“Angela, look, you need to weigh the beans properly before grinding them,” Mel criticized her, returning the coffee beans to their place before resetting the scale.
“Yeah, I’m sticking to eighteen grams.”
“Does that look eighteen to you? Look at it.”
“Twenty-two grams…yeah, wait, uhm,”
“Start over.”
“ Kaay. ”
Isabella laughed from the storage room, giving her another wave of embarrassment. So much for relying on her visual learning. Where’d the Raven who mastered the principles of magic in such a few years go?
Or maybe it wasn’t transferable to technology.
Damned technology.
“Angela, hon, you can’t curse on a machine and expect it to work,”
There’s another wave of embarrassment down her spine.
“You want me to also try becoming a…librarian?” Raven asked Isabella, smirking at her as the woman handed her the flier. She was getting accustomed to crafting the basic coffee flavors. She hated latte art, though.
“Assistant librarian. You’re only part-time here. I suggest you pick up another one if you want another income. Besides, I think you’d love it.”
Oh, she loved books alright, but not the people.
“I’ll think about it. Thank you.”
She got the job alright. Also part-time.
But it didn’t entail that it would be susceptible to criminal acts and rebellious vigilantes barging in once a week.